A welcome? A trick, surely. “Thank you,” he said carefully. Why hadn’t the boys warned him?
The sheriff rocked back on the heels of his boots. “I hear our sweet little Brook Lynn Dillon is working for you.”
“Yes.” He offered no more, no less.
“Pretty as a picture, that one.”
Fishing? This time, he said nothing.
“Not a very talkative fellow, are you?” Sheriff Lintz laughed, and it sounded genuine. “Well, now. Guess you’ve got things to do. I’ll take my leave. You take care, you hear.” He ambled to his black-and-white and drove off.
Jase remained in the doorway until the car disappeared from view. He swiped up his phone to call Beck—and saw his friend had left three messages. Damn it, he’d left the ringer off.
The scare with the sheriff made his need to see and hold Brook Lynn animalistic. What the hell was taking so long?
Hinges on the door squealed a few minutes later, and she sailed inside the house. His body reacted instantly, tensing, heating—readying. Just like that.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have her in his life, and urgency filled him. He was on her in seconds, pinning her against the wall.
“Well?” he said. “Is it done?”
She curled into him, not even a little bit upset by his manhandling. “I talked to Brad,” she replied, breathless.
“And?”
“And I told him I’m seeing a Mr. Jase Hollister exclusively.”
The tension he’d been carrying around, boulders on his back, suddenly dissolved. “Did he cry? I would have cried.”
“Please. You are not a crier, Mr. Hollister.”
“No, I suppose I’m not.” He found himself adding, “I cried the time I was taken from the apartment I’d shared with my mother,” surprising them both by revealing a little more of his past. “I expected her to come back...was afraid she wouldn’t be able to find me if I wasn’t there. And I cried the first time I was pulled out of a decent foster home. After that I had no more tears to give.”
She melted against him, warm and soft—and all mine. “I hate that you went through those things.”
“I’m learning to appreciate what I have.” He nuzzled the line of her jaw. “But all that moving around as a kid gave me a boo-boo that hasn’t healed, and I know how you like to kiss those.”
“Yes,” she said with a tremor. “Tell me. Where is this boo-boo?” She tapped a finger against his heart. “Here?”
“No.” He took her hand and curled it around his erection. “Here.”
She chuckled, even as she tightened her grip on him. “I’d be happy to kiss this boo-boo...after I tell you a ground rule I have.”
Playing me like a piano...and I love it. “Tell me.”
“As long as I’m on the clock, there will be no PDA.”
It was a little after nine, and this was definitely a public display of affection. “The rule needs an addendum. No PDA, unless I fire you. Then you can tell your boyfriend all about your cruel boss, and your boyfriend will comfort you...naked...and then you can convince your boss to rehire you.”
Her warm breath drifted over his skin as she leaned in and licked his throat. “That’s the caveat, is it?” As she spoke, she stroked his erection, the pressure building in his groin.
“I have a rule of my own,” he gritted out. “You have to wear a garbage bag Monday through Friday. That is your new work uniform. Anything else is likely to be ripped off you the moment you walk through the door.”
“And that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?” She nipped at his collarbone.
Building...
He forged ahead. “Actually, I have a couple more rules. You aren’t allowed to prance around the house if I’ve got a hammer in my hand. And you aren’t allowed to bend over. Ever.”
“Such a stern taskmaster,” she said...and slid her free hand under the hem of his shirt. Her fingers traced a path of fire to his nipple.